As the Nightmare Ends
by Shane C
Summary: A focused group of one-shots dealing with the Animorphs post-war lives. Canon, IC. New Entry: The Orations - Part Three. The scene at Rachel's funeral/memorial service.
1. We Deal In Lead

**Author's Note: ** Won't even bother begging for reviews on this one; either you're decent or you're not, I guess. Hope you enjoy, anyway. Just another collection; the other one is for my one-shots…and I suppose these fit that same category, but they're all snapshots of what the Animorphs were doing post-war. 99% canon – I'm going to stick to the big ideas (Tobias bails after Rachel and Tom die, etc.) Hope you like them.

**As the Nightmare Ends**

_**We Deal In Lead**_

_Cassie_

I lay in the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling, wide awake. It wasn't just the softness of the bed that was keeping me up – I'd been sleeping in a bedroll on the floor of a tent for the past three weeks – it was the time of year. It had been almost exactly a year since the first groups of surrendering Yeerks had been rounded up, and their surrender marked the beginning of the end. The day was already celebrated as Earth Freedom Day, and it was tomorrow.

A huge celebration had been planned in every major city in the world, and of course I'd been beleaguered by requests for appearances to all of them. I'd agreed to none of them; my work in the South American rainforests was much more important than some sentimental party. But I had flown home earlier that day for the one appearance I was absolutely bound to – the one year anniversary of Rachel.

Everybody had an opinion about Rachel, and it drove me crazy to hear other people talk about her like they'd known her intimately. I _had _known her; I had been as close to her as anyone. And _I _still didn't have Rachel 100% figured out.

Most people talked about her like she was some kind of a saint, or at least a martyr, and I suppose she was. They loved to focus in on her bravery, and her dedication, and all that other junk; nobody ever talked about the stuff that made Rachel really great, as a person – not a warrior.

That's what I planned to talk about at her anniversary the next day. I had already spoken to Tobias – I was the only one who knew where he was hiding out, for lack of a better term. He'd already told me he didn't want to be a part of "some big, fake ceremony Rachel would have hated." Marco would make an appearance, but being associated with Rachel was often more of a hindrance to his career than a help. He never came out and said it, but I knew. Marco lived off of humor and energy and laughter, his image thrived on it; it was counterproductive to tie himself to a big downer like Rachel's Glorious Sacrifice. He always did her justice and seemed to genuinely miss her, but he wasn't going to commit career suicide by moping about it all day. I could understand that.

Jake…who knew with Jake these days? I assumed he would appear at the event, but I wasn't about to put money on it, even if I were a gambler. I'd known Jake for so long and seen him under pressure so many times, I started taking it for granted that I knew what he would do in any given situation. It seemed like I was assuming wrong about Jake a lot these days, and it wasn't entirely my fault. I knew how Animorph-Jake would act in any situation…but _that_ Jake didn't necessarily exist anymore. Every now and then, I'd see flashes of him inside of himself, but it was like an old persona that he'd mostly left behind. Which is sad, because that strong person was who I was attracted to in the first place. I guess maybe people only have a certain amount of steel in them; maybe Jake had used his all up. I didn't truly believe that, but it's what it seemed like, nowadays.

All of a sudden, this weird feeling sort of washed over me. The feeling urged me to get out of bed and power up my laptop; it was irrational, I was already in bed for the night, but the urge was strong. The only way I'd ever felt like it before was in the presence of the Ellimist, and as I had the thought, feelings of rightness sounded about it. I got up and turned on my computer and waited through the boot up sequence, not exactly knowing what to expect.

The first thing that popped up in a window on my desktop was a friend request. The picture was blank, and the only description besides the name, wiz100, was "friend to those who keep the trees." I had a strong suspicion at once that it was the Ellimist, even though I didn't understand why he would bother to go to all this trouble. He could snap his fingers and make a spaceship appear – he'd actually done that. It was with this suspicion that I added him to my online friends list. Automatically, a message from him popped up.

"Hi, Cassie. You know who this is. I feel like you've lost your way a bit, that maybe you could use a new perspective. Type Y or N."

I realized that he was right, that I really was feeling lost and sort of empty lately. I pressed the 'y' key.

"Make no mistake, Rachel is dead. That is not going to change. But if you'd like, I can let you talk to her…essence, for a short while. Type Y or N."

I covered my mouth with my hand. A chance to talk to Rachel? My hand was shaking as I again entered the 'y' into the chatbox.

"Okay. I will stand aside." A message blooped on-screen that 'grizgirl15' had joined the chat. She was the first one to type.

"Cassie? This is Rachel, are you there?"

I replied, "I don't even know what to think right now. This has to be a cruel joke."

"LOL. It's not. I know what happened and I know I died. The Ellimist filled me in. He twisted time so that I'm actually talking to you from the past, on my computer at home. I'll be taken off the timeline after we talk, and POOF, I cease to exist. Again."

Somehow, the message carried just enough of Rachel's mocking humor, even in death, that it was convincing. "Rachel, I just wish you were here; that would solve almost everything."

There was a short pause before the response. "Yeah. I'd imagine it's got to be hard on you guys. I'm not going to ask a million questions; this is about you, since I only exist for this conversation. But I have to know. How's Tobias doing with it?"

I shook my head sadly and decided to lie to her. She'd never know the truth, anyway. "He's doing okay. He's kind of a loner, but you know he always has been. He's good, though."

Another short pause. "Okay. Thank you. Now about you…I understand it's been a year. You haven't moved on?"

"Mostly I have," I typed honestly. "But that doesn't keep me from missing you, every day. Something always reminds me of you, which reminds me of the sort of hole you left in me when you died. In all of us."

"Yeah, well, you've got to do what I can't," she challenged. "You've got to get Jake to be the leader we know he is. He needs to take his job of holding everybody together seriously right now – maybe more now than ever. Only you could ever do it, and it's for everybody's sake that you do it now."

I knew that. I had known that all along, and it's what I'd been dreading. Not seeing Jake, but wasting another opportunity to try to change things around for him. Because a confrontation would be necessary, probably, and I never liked confrontation.

"Yeah. You're right. I will," I typed, resolving to make it true.

"Good. Hey, our friend says to turn on channel twelve. Jake's coming on, and you might not want to miss it. Good talking to you, Cass. Don't take things too seriously – after all, we _won_." I swear to God, in my mind's eye, I could see Rachel's crazy smile as she typed that.

I typed back, "I love you Rachel. Miss you." I think it had enough time to go through before the message announcing that 'grizgirl15 has left the chat.'

I powered down the laptop and climbed back into bed, turning the TV to channel twelve. Sure enough, one of those stuffy political analysts was sitting down with him. The familiar figure of Dr. Drew sat between the two, and he was the first to speak. "Okay, first and foremost, Jake, I gotta know why you agreed to do this interview. You've been extremely skeptical and hard to track down for press events – what gives?"

Jake sighed, and I knew the look on his face well. It said, '_damn, that was a tough one, and it's just the beginning.' _He considered his response, and delivered it measured. "I'm trying to change things around in my life, toward a more positive experience, you know? And I don't want to just pop into the public eye on Sunday for Rachel's memorial. I'm here, I'm okay, you know?"

"Sure, Jake. Now that you're taking questions, I feel like I speak for everyone when I ask this next one," the politicial/analyst guy said. "We know you had a rough time coping with the loss of your cousin and your brother. There is a lot of buzz in the media and in political circles that suggests that, if he's ever needed to be called upon again, Jake Berenson won't be up to the task. How do you respond to that?" The analyst leaned back, smug. He knew he'd just thrown Jake a pretty good fastball.

Jake was quick in replying. "In some ways, it feels like that's exactly what I'm waiting for. That I'm just existing until I'm needed again. But I don't want it to be that way – I don't want to be known as the guy who purely deals in lead."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Drew interjected, confused. "'Deal in lead' – I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the term."

Jake smiled. "I've had some time to read, and I really got into Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I really loved the main character, a rough-and-tumble gunslinger with one thing on his mind. Everything and everyone else are secondary to his mission – no price was too high. I can sort of identify with that. And one of the things he said in one of the books stood out to me. Somebody asked him what his trade was, and his reply was, 'I deal in lead.' And, for years, that described me; metaphorically, of course. But now that the goal is achieved and the mission is won, I want to be able to settle into a normal life. That would be easier with Rachel around, but she went out in a blaze of glory, just like a gunslinger. I think I'm ready to accept that."

The analyst couldn't have looked more bored. "So in essence, what you're saying is that you _are _ready to deal with another extraterrestrial threat, should it present itself?"

Jake grinned. "That's what I'm saying. Until then, I'm going to try to keep a lower profile, but yeah – if people need me, I'll be there."

The interview cut to some other segment, and I flipped off the TV with Jake's last words ringing through my ears. "If people need me, I'll be there."

It was weird because it was true; he meant it with every bone in his body. But he was just so damned _blind_, sometimes. Marco needed him – he claimed to be too busy and whatever, but I knew better. Every time he and Jake hung out, Marco was high off of the experience for weeks. The two were like two parts of a whole, and they needed each other.

Tobias needed him, too. Tobias talked like he hated Jake, some days; most days he acted indifferent, as if Jake had wronged him so bad it weren't even worth talking about. I knew, deep down, he didn't really believe any of it; his rage at losing Rachel just went so deep, if he didn't have somewhere to direct it, it would eat him alive. But Jake had given up on talking to Tobias far too easily, in my opinion. Maybe Jake didn't feel like it was his duty to try that hard to earn back a friend like Tobias, but mostly, I thought he was just scared Tobias would just say all the things out loud that Jake already thought about himself.

Most of all, _I _needed him. I shuddered as I made the realization. More than Rachel had left a hole, not having Jake's constant nature around had taken a toll on me. I missed his quiet strength, and knowing that everything would be okay. Because Jake would never give up, and he'd die for any one of us. It had been my rock in the most trying time in my life, and I _missed that_.

I rolled over and flipped my pillow to the cool side. I resolved hard to talk to him after the ceremony. No excuses, no pulling any punched; it was going to be the first heartfelt, honest conversation that we'd had since the end of the war. I couldn't make Jake do anything, but I could try to give him a push in the right direction. It was in my power, and I would do it. I fell into the deep sleep that only the resolution of a deep dilemma can bring.


	2. The Orations Part 1

**A/N – **I'm trying out more third person Animorphs narration, so if this looks weird, that's why. As always, _please _take two seconds to write something in the review box so conveniently provided at the bottom of this piece. Thanks in advance.

**The Orations – Part One**

Jake realized that the ringleader for Rachel's non-denominational memorial service was inviting him up to speak. He'd known he would be first; that did nothing to settle the brick in his stomach or the lump in his throat, however. He tried halfheartedly to straighten his tie as he walked numbly through the aisle to get to the podium. He gave it up with a heavy heart as he realized that Rachel would have been the one to make sure he looked sharp for the cameras.

He got to the podium and squinted against the flashbulbs of a million cameras all going off as he raised the microphone to his level. He realized that this was his first public appearance since the end of the war and the beginning of the negotiations between human and Andalite. '_Why this?_' he thought bleakly as he tried to read ahead of the speech somebody else had written for him. '_Maybe a news interview, I could get through. Maybe I could make a decent impression on a talk show or something. Why does everybody have to be looking at me right now?_'

He read through about two sentences before he realized he would never really say anything written here. He balled it up and tossed it over his shoulder, smiling for the first time that day – Rachel would have liked that.

"Rachel," he said simply and shrugged. "Rachel would hate this," he gestured to the over-the-top, temporary stone monument, the huge gathering of people, the haystacks of cloying flowers. He heard gasps from people in the front row, who'd all no doubt put a lot of work into the ceremony, and ignored them.

"Rachel was a fighter. She had no use for stuff like this. If it were me in that urn and her standing at this mic, she'd feel every bit as uncomfortable as I do now." He smiled again, his eyes a million miles away. "She'd be hating every minute of it. She'd also have all of you eating out of the palm of her hand by now. They say I'm some kind of a leader, but I'm no good at this stuff. Rachel would have been."

For all of his talk about not being likable, there were a lot of heavy, sympathetic sighs in the crowd as Jake's eyes got misty and he turned away from the podium. Those at the right angle saw him wipe his eyes with his tie before turning back to the crowd.

"Rachel was my cousin and she was my friend. She was also a million times more than that. I cannot count how many times that girl has saved my life. She saved everybody. If it weren't for her, we'd all have a Yeerk with our name on it. Take that to the bank." His voice didn't allow any possibility for argument; he spoke about Rachel the way religious people talk about God. Jake was positive about what he was saying.

Jake paused again. "I threw my speech away, so I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I guess I'll remind you why we're here. This isn't about winning a war. It's about losing a person. It's about Rachel." Jake's mind was a couple of pages ahead of his words, and two quiet tears slipped from his eyes. "It sucks. I don't remember the last time I told her I loved her. We weren't really like that. I know she knew it. I know she knew I always had her back. Still…still, I wish I'd told her." He was in his own little world, the thirty-five thousand assembled mourners forgotten. "I guess it might not be too late. Love you, Rachel. I love you, cousin." He started crying a little harder; the anti-anxiety pills his dad had forced him to take weren't doing their job. Jake's grief was too fresh and too real to cover up with chemicals.

He pulled himself back together as he realized somebody was making their way to the podium, presumably to lead him away from it. Jake wasn't done, and he stopped the man cold by putting a hand to him. '_Not now_,' the palm-up gesture said. '_Leave me be_.'

He looked down at the podium for a long moment, and when he raised his head, he was composed again. The sadness was written all over his face, but he was in control. People in the crowd got their first look at the heavy, reluctant leader of the Animorphs. At how he'd been in battle.

"People are going to say a lot of things about Rachel. Some of it will be true, some of it will be bogus. Most of it will probably be exaggerated. I just wish everybody could remember her like I will. It's cliché, but she died like she lived – fearlessly, with no thought of herself. She gave up everything for you, the people she didn't even know. _Everything._" He pulled something out of his pocket and smiled as he looked at it. "I want you to remember her like I do – like this." He held the photograph up, and every camera in the vicinity zoomed in on it.

It was a picture that Jake had taken about two months after their encounter with Prince Elfangor. He'd sworn to her he'd thrown it away, but he just hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. Jake had taken it at her gymnastics meet, the last one she ever participated in. That night, she'd fallen off the balance beam. '_Probably because she had bigger things on her mind,_' Jake thought. In the picture, she was climbing onto the beam from the mat beside it, looking red-faced and angry.

"She fell off," Jake explained to the crowd. "Don't you see? She fell off, _but she got right back on._ Didn't matter that the judges had already scored her a zero. Didn't matter that she was just wasting time at that point. She got back on because she refused to let this balance beam beat her. Just like she refused to let the Yeerks beat her." He slipped the picture back into his pocket and smiled up into the sunny sky. "You beat 'em, cuz. You won." Jake seemed to realize he was still on stage, because he leaned into the mic and said awkwardly, "Um, yeah. That's all I got. Thanks."

Polite applause followed him all the way back to his table, where he sat and looked at his photograph again. His dad patted him on the shoulder, holding back his own tears, and his mom squeezed his hand proudly. Naomi, Rachel's mom and Jake's aunt, was done up on anti-anxieties and painkillers, but she still managed to come out of her haze long enough to give Jake a look of disgust and even hatred. It hurt Jake's heart, but he knew he would be catching that look from that woman until the day one of them died. He ignored it and went over to where she sat.

Sara wasn't too young to know what was going on, and Jake kissed her on top of the head. Jordan stood up, walked to the other side of her mother, and hugged Jake around his waist.

"How did I do?" Jake whispered to her, trying not to cry again.

"Pretty dorky," Jordan whispered back. "But Rachel would have liked it. That's the point, huh?"

Jake tried to smile. "Yeah. That's the point."

**A/N – **Thanks again in advance for the review! Oh, and this will be a multi-part thing. You know, unless it sucks or nobody cares to review it. Look for part 2 soon!


	3. The Orations Part 2

**A/N – **Of course, I've had to make up last names for some of the Anis in this piece. I hope they sound like they fit – I always feel guilty doing it, somehow.

**The Orations – Part Two**

Marco fidgeted with his cocktail napkin as he waited for the guy leading the ceremony to call him up. Jake had done an all-right job with his speech, and Marco didn't want to look callous compared to his best friend. He knew he wouldn't cry like Jake had; not that he wasn't sad, because he was. He'd done his crying the night before – not a real sobbing spree, but a few helpless tears as he looked at the full moon through his bedroom window.

It was just that this was all he'd ever expected out of this war. He still couldn't believe Rachel was the only one who died. His feelings were varied and confusing, but he actually acknowledged that he felt a sense of relief, almost. It was over, yeah, and it sucked that Rachel couldn't enjoy it. The victory would have never been possible without her death, though, and as heartless as it sounded, Marco thought it was a fair price to pay. Hell, cheaper than he'd ever expected.

The real stress-inducer, what he was already thinking ahead to and dreading, was Tom's service. Rachel would be easy to talk good about; what the hell was he going to say about Tom, when the time came? He shook his head and continued shredding his napkin – now wasn't the time to think about that. Like Jake, his job wasn't over. In all honesty, it was just beginning. The humans would need a leader right now, and Marco didn't know if Jake was going to be up to it. Even though they'd won, Jake looked beaten.

"And now, we'll have a few words from another brave defender of our planet. Please join me in welcoming Marco Lyons." He led the crowd in polite applause, and Marco walked to the lectern with measured, confident steps.

While Jake had appeared fairly disheveled – borrowed suit too big for him, hair hastily brushed out of his eyes – Marco had taken the time to make sure he appeared strong and composed. He wore a tailored Armani suit. The six thousand dollar garment had been donated, of course, along with the shoes, cufflinks, and light-tint sunglasses chosen especially for this outdoor event. His hair was neatly trimmed, and there was no trace of the facial stubble that had started growing in a mere six months ago. He looked poised, confident, and ever-so-young.

"I've been following Jake for years, so I guess it shouldn't bother me to do it now," Marco started with a slight smile on his lips. "As always, he's set the bar just high enough to where I'm sure to trip over it." The assembled crowd actually chuckled lightly, and Marco's smile widened as he was encouraged.

"I'm grateful," he continued. "Mostly to Rachel; she took the job most everybody else would have turned down. She _knew _her last mission would kill her, and she took it anyway. That's impressive, even to me, and I grew up watching Rachel do ridiculously brave things. She always had a way of making me feel a lot shorter than 5'5"." He paused for another bit of solemn laughter.

Marco rested his elbows on the podium and leaned toward the crowd. He made eye contact with the people in the first few rows. "That's not what impresses me most about what she did. She had no way of knowing if her sacrifice was going to matter or not. She had no idea that we'd be standing here honoring her right now. She didn't expect anything in return." Marco paused. "I want you to think about that. She gave her life up for the off-chance it might help us. Might help _you_."

"She did what she did because it was her job. She did it because nobody else could. Nobody else had the insane bravery that she had, nobody else could be trusted not to fold under the pressure of imminent death. Rachel knew she wouldn't fold. She knew she had taken on her last stand when she said yes to the mission, and she was okay with that." For the first time, some genuine emotion seemed to creep into Marco's voice. "_God_, I'm going to miss that about her. It's not a quality you find in many people. Hell, she might have been one-of-a-kind." He thought about that. "Yeah, I'd be willing to bet my last buck that she was. She made the difference. I'll leave you on the same note as Jake; don't make today out to be bigger than it is. It's about Rachel – no more, no less. Trust me, Rachel's life is plenty enough to celebrate. Thank you for your time." He nodded his head in a polite little bow and left the stage.

People applauded him harder than they had Jake. Marco didn't take that as a sign that he'd done a better job, just that he was more relatable to most people. As he weaved his way to where he was sitting with his mom, dad, and Cassie and her folks, he took the long way to pass by Jake's table. Jake clasped Marco's wrist, and Marco his, in the old Roman battle-grip they'd started using a few months ago. It had started out as a joke; not anymore. It was more solidifying than a simple handshake, and once the two young men had gotten used to it, they could never go back.

"That was really nice, Marco. Thanks," Jake said quietly. He looked a little spacey, and Marco had a suspicion that Jake's dad had re-dosed his son with pills to try to keep him calm.

"The only reason I did a decent job is because Rachel wasn't around to bust my balls," Marco said, more sad and nostalgic now that he was off-stage. Jake smiled a little at that.

"Yeah. Anyway. They like you, you know," Jake said offhandedly about the massive crowd. "I get the feeling you're going to be just fine."

Marco shook his head, annoyed. "Of _course _I'll be all right. I'm always all right. What about you?" he peered into the bigger boy's face.

Jake nodded serenely. "Me too. I'll be fine."

Marco didn't quite believe him, though. He let Jake's mom hug him and his dad pat him on the back before heading back to his own table to sit with his own parents. The sight of Peter and Eva, sitting together and free, buoyed Marco's spirits. He'd never been a believer in miracles. Not until now.


	4. The Orations Part 3

**The Orations – Part Three**

She watched Marco finish his speech and stop by Jake's family's table and exchange a quick word with him. The MC – or whatever you called the person who led a non-denominational memorial service – was droning on again, but Cassie just found herself wishing she could have known what the two boys were saying. One thing she'd learned after the war was over was something that should have been pretty obvious to her all along.

If you weren't there, if you weren't on the inside of the fight, you could never know what they knew. If you hadn't seen the things they'd seen, done the things that they'd done, you could never understand. Whether she liked it or not, those two boys and herself were the only real, human survivors of the war. Tobias was gone; he may have been here, somewhere, but regardless, he was already gone.

It made her feel lonely and scared, even though she was surrounded by her own kind. Humans. Free humans. Her mom and dad were right on either side of her. Marco's parents were on the other side of them. Despite it, she'd never felt more alone.

Jake's speech, given directly from his heavy heart, had just about broken her own. As he made that speech, Cassie could clearly see that the Jake she knew was gone. Gone like Tobias.

Marco's speech had mended the jagged edges of her heart a little. He gave her hope for a semblance of a normal life, now that it was all over.

As the MC wound down and prepared to call her up, Cassie felt a trill of fear. The sensation was surprising. How long had it been since she felt real fear? A long time. Battles had stopped scaring her long ago. They saddened her, they made her worry, but fear? She'd thought the part of herself that induced that feeling was dead and gone. But as the MC introduced her, she felt the now-unfamiliar sensation. The floopy feeling in her stomach, the way her knees wanted to turn to jelly. She ignored it and went to the stage.

She started reading off of the notecards her mom had helped her prepare, but she was just talking. The words weren't important. She didn't think about what she was saying, because to think about the reason she was standing in front of all those people would incapacitate her. She could fall to pieces later – right now, there was still one more job to do. She didn't make the connection, but she was on the same sort of auto-pilot she'd gone into during the fights. So many fights.

She came to the end of the last notecard, and she allowed herself to read and process the last few sentences before speaking them out loud. Big mistake. She had been _so _close to getting through this without falling apart, but now her breath caught in her throat as it thickened and the tears started to flow. She wasn't sure how long she cried in front of the thousands of people – maybe thirty seconds, maybe thirty _minutes_. Nobody interrupted her. Finally, she was able to say the words that had made her cry.

"Rachel was my best friend. On the first day of second grade, a boy called me a poor farmer. He was making fun of the stains on my clothes. I didn't understand why he was being mean – the stains had gotten there because I wanted to help my daddy and he let me." She looked up and saw her father smiling proudly and weeping at the same time. Her throat swelled up again, but she fought it. Close, now. So close to the end. She could do it.

"Rachel was the prettiest girl in class, and even at that young age, I was starting to understand a nearly universal truth – the pretty girls were mean. So when she got out of her desk to walk over to where me and the mean boy were sitting, I thought she was coming to join in on making fun of me." Suddenly, Cassie's face broke out into a nostalgic smile.

"Rachel pushed the boy out of his desk and stood over him. 'You leave her alone!' she yelled at him, and the boy almost cried. Rachel grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my desk, and I remember I was scared she was going to push me down, too. But she just looked at me and said, 'Evan is a poo-head. Come sit by me.' After that, we were inseparable. We were like Yin and Yang, two parts to a single puzzle. I'll miss her more than I could say. But I'll always remember, and I'll always be grateful. Because Rachel will always push the mean kid out of his chair for me."

She stepped off of the stage. There was a short moment where the crowd digested the story, then, abruptly, they cheered. They didn't just clap, they _cheered_. Cassie smiled again, knowing that she'd pulled off the impossible – she'd figured out a way to tell these strangers who Rachel really was.


End file.
